Game Over
by Your Greatest Mistakes
Summary: Mello never understood why I played games, but Near did. [Oneshot] [MattxNear, onesided MelloxMatt]


Mello never understood why I spent so much time on my DS. He'd always roll his eyes whenever he saw me play, and would whine about how I 'was getting wrapped up in some sick little reality'. Pssh. It just was something I'd do to relax, to escape. It would let me tap into my own world where I was in charge. I wouldn't be Matt anymore. I'd be some hero, destined to save the world, or defeat the bad guys. In that world, I wouldn't have to worry about my friends getting shot down or anyone knowing my real name. I didn't have any emotional baggage in that world. If worst came to worst, I could just go back to the last save point. Mello never understood how much getting lost in a game meant to me.

Near did, however.

In retrospect, that's probably why Mello resented games and things so much. If it had anything to do with Near, Mello would automatically hate it, and try to have the exact opposite of it. He never wore white. He always sprawled out, no matter what the circumstances were. He wore tight, partially effeminate clothes. He even straightened his hair, for cryin' out loud. But I didn't care. When Mello got to be too much, I could always lose myself with Near.

It all started out when we would get together to play video games. I'd drag out my PS2, maybe a copy of one of the earlier Final Fantasy games or Mario or something, and Near would quietly sit by me. In the beginning, all we'd really talk about was the game. Near would analyze our next moves, I'd blow away whoever our enemies were, and we'd talk about what ratings the game got or some random crap like that. But as time went by, we'd talk about the funny little things that would happen during the day. I'd be reminded of some dumb stunt Mello pulled, Near would comment on how So-and-so looked like Linda, and how this is just like the time when I did whatever. Sooner or later, we'd just pause the game sometimes and talk. Eventually we stopped gaming altogether.

After we stopped playing on a gaming console, Near and I would play with Lego on the ground, aimlessly moving around bricks while just talking. Usually it was a matter of just saying whatever came into our heads, and waiting for the other's reaction. I think I liked talking to Near more than talking to Mello due to the fact that whatever his reaction was, I wouldn't have to worry about getting bandages later that night. I think that's one of the reasons I began to love him.

Whenever I'd leave Near's room, I'd shuffle around the Whammy House, wondering why I would go there anymore. I couldn't say that it was for the video games, that ended a while ago, and I couldn't say it was for the Lego, either. It wasn't for the conversation, as it would mostly be me ranting and raving about god knows what and Near just replying here and there. In retrospect, it was probably to see the look on his face he'd get when he had an idea, a small smile that would light up my world like a little candle. But that couldn't be true. We were both boys. I wasn't gay...was I?

I remember the day everything sort of changed. It was November 14th, and the two of of were trying to build some city of action figures of Gundams and samurai. Near was saying that the samurai had to be in a different part of the town than the Gundam, because the samurai had feelings. They could get angry and hurt the giant robots or something. Feelings, in his mind, could be rendered as dangerous weapons.

Somehow, hearing him talk like that made me feel more desolate than ever. It was like I was experiencing an extreme case of vertigo; the room began to spin, I felt a headache coming on, and I could do nothing. I suppose it's the last part that made me do what I did next.

With one stroke of my arm, I swept away all the blocks and the toys, and clamped my free hand to the side of Near's face. His eyes were wide in shock, because I had never, _ever_ done something like this before. "Don't talk like that", I said, feeling tears threaten to fall, "Don't talk about feelings that way when I've got so many for you." And then I did something neither one of us expected; I leaned in and kissed him.

I am honestly amazed he didn't hit me, or at least recoil in terror. I never figured him out to be the sort that would tolerate getting kissed- by a guy or a girl. I always assumed my love destined to be a one-sided crush because of that. But Near didn't pull away. He let me kiss him- and kissed me back.

Now let me take a moment here to tell you a little back story. Before this, the only person who I had kissed was Mello. It was less of a romantic love thing, and more like something I did to keep him from breaking my foot. Because Mello kisses me so often, I have discovered something; He tastes terrible. He has this sickening, bitter, chocolate-y taste to him. I could tolerate this, and maybe get to the point where I could kiss him back, if it wasn't for the fact that he finds it necessary to try to make me choke on his tounge. Note to people who want to kiss Mello: Don't.

Near, on the other hand, is nothing like that. For starters, he isn't nearly as vicious. His lips were soft, like I had thought. But the funny thing was that there was never a definite taste to Near- it was a fragrance I always picked up. It was a strange mixture of lemon, mint, and what childhood innocence would smell like if it had a scent. Kissing Near, fortunately, was nothing like kissing Mello. I can't remember for how long we sat there, just kissing each other. All I remember is his wide eyes looking up at me when we were done, a faint pint tinge on his cheeks, and hearing his soft voice quietly say 'Wow'. The two of us were more than happy to make this a tradition that would last a while.

And suddenly, it all changed one day. Near and I were together again one afternoon (you know what I mean by 'together', right?) when Mello came in. That's the strange part of it all- Mello usually avoids Near's room like it's been quarantined, and here he is coming in at the worst possible moment. Maybe that's why he came in at that time- something told him that there was more than just friendship between Near and I, and he wanted to put an end to it. Well, regardless of whether he wanted to or not, he certainly made it hard for us to see each other again.

I remember his face most distinctly. His face was contorted due to furiousness and homicidal rage. "Just- what- is- going- on- _here_- Matt?" He snarled, like a dog ready to bite. He spit out my last name like it's been tainted with poison. He eyed the two of us; me, and Near still sitting in my lap, with degrading disdain. And before either one of us could answer, he threw out another question, still terrifyingly enraged. "How- long- has- this- been- going- on?"

"Th-three months..." Near replied, his voice almost as small as he is. I felt his small arms tighten around my waist, like he tried to hold on to me for support. "But, listen, Mello, it-"

"No, YOU listen to me, bastard!" Mello screamed. Before I realize what happened, Mello had pulled out a gun from somewhere and pointed it at Near's head. "Matt is mine, you albino freak, and he always had. GOT IT?" Mello has surprising volume, and I could hear his voice crack and strain as he screamed out the last two words. When Mello gets deranged like this and for some reason is armed, there's only one thing that he'll do next. He was like that, even then.

"No, Mello, wait, you don't understand-" I said frantically, anything to stop Mello from hurt either one of us. I hold Near like a mother would hold her child, desperate to save him.

"Shut up, Matt. HE doesn't get it! And I'll make sure he DOES!" Mello has lost it at this point. Near clings to me, and I hold him, praying to a God I don't even believe in anymore, hoping Mello won't hurt us too badly. All I hear next is a click of the trigger of Mello's pistol getting pulled. I've worked hard to abolish the actual bang from my memory.

One second later, I'm sure that I'm the one the bullet hit. I'm the dead one.

Why? Because it's the only thing I could have thought of at that point. My clothes were covered in blood, Near's face was buried in my clothes (mourning my death, I thought) and it felt like there was a huge hole in me that Mello violently ripped out. And the Near looked up. For a second there I thought that no, that wasn't Near that sat so close to me, because I distinctly remember Near having two eyes, and the boy I saw had a bloody mess where his left eye should have been. _Mello shot Near_, I realize, _he's shot him and it's all my fault at this point_.

I looked up at Mello and saw a demon. He was laughing in a crazed manner, his eyes wide, a twisted grin on his face. "I think he's got it now, Matt, he's got it now, got it now..." He's raving, occasionally just laughing harder than ever.

I rushed Near to the hospital. The last time I ever saw him was when he was lying in the hospital bed, completely unconscious, bandages obscuring the left side of his face. That was the last time I cried.

Mello saw Near last week, when he went to discuss the Death Note. The explosion has given him a scar partially obscuring his vision in his right eye. He always has to be the opposite. Mello tells me that Near wears a black wrap-around eyepatch, which clashes harshly with his all-white attire. I wish could have gone to see him; to hold him, to apologize, to see him. Anything.

Mello never understood my need for the escapist dream-land playing games gave me.

But Near did.


End file.
